The Fallen
by chaoticelegance
Summary: After the death of Allison Argent, the pack is forced to cope with life without her. That is until the day Allison suddenly appears in Lydia's bedroom, fingernails embedded with dirt and no recollection of how she had gotten there. For the pack, Allison's return should be a dream come true. Only problem? She's a ghost, and her time back is limited. 3b. Major Character Death.
1. Prologue

**The Fallen**

"Prologue"

* * *

_Feeling my way through the darkness_

_Guided by a beating heart_

_I can't tell where the journey will end_

_But I know where to start_

* * *

The cemetery is silent, aside from the light squawks of crows flying overhead. The grass is glistening from the rain fall the night before.

There is a fresh pile of dirt, in front of a newly planted tombstone.

_Allison Argent_

_1997 - 2014_

_"Nous Protégeons Ceux_

_Qui Ne Peuvent Pas_

_Se Protéger Eux Mémes"_

As a black crow perches itself atop the tombstone, a white rose grows from out the dirt.

Below, in a satin filled coffin, chocolate brown eyes burst open, as a strangled gasp escapes the dry lips of a dead girl.

And miles away, in a darkened bedroom, Lydia Martin shoots up in her bed, her body covered in sweat as she breathes out a single word.

"_Allison_."

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own "Teen Wolf", nor do I profit in this story other than the satisfaction of becoming a better writer. I do not claim to own any of these pre-written characters. All belong to the creator Jeff Davis and various copyright holders!

**A/N: **Hello everyone! It's me again. Let me just start by saying, I know this was short, but it's simply the prologue the next chapter will be longer! Anyways, this story is going to be hard to write seeing as I never in a million years thought I would be writing or reading a _Ghost!Allison_ fanfic, and I wish so badly that it was Canon for Season 4. However, I'm really excited to get this out to you guys! I hope you enjoyed this prologue and I can't wait to start this journey with you. Again, I just want to say that as we know, nothing can ever hold 100% to the show when it comes to fanfiction so I do ask that you bare with me in terms of my writing style towards it, along with my ships and ideas when reviewing. I understand everyone has their own opinions, and I'm open to them, but keep in mind we don't all share the same ideas/ships/theories, and that this is my version, so please respect that. That being said, please review! Although this is fan fiction, I am an aspiring writer. Therefore, your feedback is not only appreciated but very helpful to me! I'd love to hear what you guys think! As always, thank you for reading, and I will see you all again very soon! x


	2. The Funeral

**The Fallen**

Chapter 1a

"The Funeral"

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_Really too late to call, __So we wait for morning_

_To wake you is all we got._

_To know me as hardly golden, Is to know me all wrong,_

_They warn._

* * *

It's _raining_. Little drops of water colliding against the glass of the windshield in a light rhythm. The sky is a dark shade of grey, and thunder can be heard rumbling behind the black clouds hanging over Beacon Hills. To call it a "_gloomy_ day" would be the biggest understatement in history. Because it wasn't just any other rainy day. It wasn't just any other storm occurring in the sky above. No, it was the day of Allison Argent's funeral. And for the 3 kids sitting in the beat up blue Jeep, parked at the top of the hill of Beacon Hills cemetery, to define today as anything other then _unbearable_, was simply just false in context. Because one of their best friend's was dead. One of the strongest people they knew, was lying still in a coffin down the hill. One of the people they'd loved most, had fallen. And the sky was crying. This storm, was only a personification of the emotions they held within them. _Gloomy_ just didn't cut it. And as the roaring engine of the jeep finally shut off, they all felt the weight of the true meaning of the day, collapse on their shoulders._ Unbearable_. Yeah, that seemed about right.

Stiles' fingers slowly twine around the steering wheel, gripping tightly as he peers ahead of him. His red rimmed eyes, catching blurs of black as people dressed in funeral attire, hidden by their matching umbrellas, walk past the front of his jeep to get down the hill. The sleeves of his suit lift slightly up on his arms, and he feels the fabric brush against the hair on his arms. It was the only suit he'd owned. It had been his dad's. The last time either of them had worn a suit, it had been under the same circumstances. A funeral. His mother's. He could feel the irony of it all sitting in the pit of his stomach. It was enough to make him feel as though he wanted to get sick and cry all at the same time. Losing someone, is hard enough. However, feeling to blame for that loss, provides an entirely different kind of pain. It's a pain that eats away at you, demanding to be felt. An itching beneath your skin. A voice inside your head, confirming you're to blame when you forget to. It's hell. However, that's something Stiles is all to familiar with. And it's not until he feels another hand prying his fingers off of the steering wheel, that he's pulled out of the darkness in his mind, and the guilt is silenced long enough for him to regain focus on reality. Blinking wildly, he sucks in a sharp breath, and he turns to his side to meet the tear filled eyes of his best friend.

Scott is quiet, his eyes lowering when Stiles finally turns to him. When he finally manages to pry the rest of Stiles' fingers off the wheel, his hands drop once more into his lap and he shifts his body so that his head is resting back on the cold, sweaty window. He doesn't even feel the tears swelling in his eyes. He's numb. The last time he'd worn a suit, was when he'd gone to the Winter Formal. Where he'd first told Allison that he loved her. And although he doesn't wear the same suit today, the memory of his last experience in one, was enough to make him feel suffocated. His fingers lift to his collar, pulling at it slightly. He doesn't know what to say or do. He's supposed to. He's the alpha. He's supposed to be strong, and prepared to be the shoulder everyone leans on. He's supposed to hold the tears back, stand tall, and come up with a plan for a future without Allison. But the honesty of the situation, is that Scott can't be strong today. Today, he is confirming what he's been trying to deny for so long. Allison is gone. And no matter how hard he's tried to be his own anchor, to pull himself out of this black hole that's swallowing his very being, he _can't_. Because he couldn't save her. Because she'd said she still loved him, and now he'll never have a chance to say it back. Because when she took her final breath, and left the land of the living, she took a part of him with her. And so, asking him to be strong, is frankly asking of too much. Eventually, he'll move. Eventually, he'll say something. Eventually, he'll step out of his best friend's jeep, walk down that hill, and say goodbye to the first girl he'd every truly loved. Eventually. When he's ready. When the tears stop blurring his vision.

"I can't," Lydia is the first one to say what they're all feeling. Her voice comes out no louder than a rasped whisper, from her shaking red painted lips. She's dressed in a long sleeved, fit and flare black dress, that stops just above her knees. She says to herself that she's wearing black because it's her best friend's favorite color. That it's not for a funeral, but for a celebration of life. However, '_is_ her best friend's favorite color' turns into '_was_ her best friend's favorite color', and then '_celebration_' begins to sound like the stupidest description of the event she's attending, because how can anyone celebrate losing their _best friend_? Their other half. Their sister. The only person they've ever opened up to? She's left wondering how anyone goes on, after losing someone they loved. How they can wake up and remember how to breathe, with the aching in their chest. How? Why? Questions that can never be answered. Allison was supposed to be here to tell Lydia everything would be alright. They were supposed to be shopping for prom dresses, 3 months early, because they were overcome with the excitement of the fact that they were finally juniors, and allowed to go. They were supposed to be talking about how Allison's first time with Issac went, and then Lydia would hide her face as she admitted that somehow Stiles Stilinski's 10 year plan was actually beginning to work on her. But instead, they would do none of these things._ They_ wouldn't even be a _they_ anymore. It was just Lydia. And she wasn't strong like Allison. She can't put on a brave face to convince herself and others that she's fine. That she can take care of herself. Because she can't. And with each minute passing as she sits in the backseat of Stiles' jeep, listening to the storm outside the assemble of metal and glass that is separating the 3 of them from the outside world, it became more clear to her. "I can't do this." she squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. "I can't go out there." Her eyes flutter open, and she catches sight of the polish she'd absentmindedly chipped off of her nails while sitting. She turns her head to look out the window, her eyes glazed over. "This is all just," her shoulders lift. "..too much."

Neither of the boys turn in their seats to look back at her. They don't have to, for her to know that they'd heard her. They'd heard and felt every word that left her lips. It was too much._ Too much_ grief. _Too much_ pain. _Too much_ anger. _Too much_ left unsaid. _Too much_ for any teenagers to handle all on their own. Issac had already left town. Everything being "_Too much_", the exact reason nobody blamed him for not showing up today. They'd all gotten his text. He'd apologized for not making an appearance, the words "too much" being quoted with his reasoning. Residing in France, also contributed. However, they all new the former was likely to have contributed more. So, yes, they all felt it. And in that moment, it took everything in Stiles for him to not turn the key in the ignition, put his jeep in reverse, and speed away without a second glance. But they had to do it. They had to step out into the rain, and say goodbye to their fallen pack member. A girl, who had made a mark in all of their lives. A girl, who was so much more than her end. A girl who deserved, for her best friends to wear the strength she'd held her entire life, and give her a proper goodbye. A salute, to a warrior.

Stiles flicks his eyes up to look at her through the rearview mirror. She's crying now, her lips tucked in and the shadows of the raindrops running down his car window are reflecting on her face. "Lydia..." he calls her name quietly, and she releases her tucked lips, letting out a sob. "Hey," He unbuckles his seat belt, this time turning and reaching his arm back to place a comforting hand on her knee. "Look at me, right at me." He ducks his head slightly, and she snaps her eyes in his direction. "We can do this." Lydia begins to protest, but he's quick to cut her short. "I'm not going to sugar coat it for you. It's not going to be easy. It's going to be _hard_. And it's going to be one of the most painful things we've ever had to face, but we can do this." He pauses, craning his head back to look at Scott, who has yet to move. "Hey! You." Stiles takes his free hand, slapping it onto Scott's shoulder. The young Alpha lifts his head off the window, letting out what sounds to be a whimper. "_We_ can do this." This time it sounds more like a question than a statement, but Stiles still squeezes Scott's shoulder a bit tighter to try and hide his slight doubt. "We _need_ to," Lydia lifts her chin upward, wiping at her tear stained cheeks. Scott tilts his head slightly in Stiles' direction. "For _Allison_." he looks between the pair, who have now tensed under the mention of her name. "_Alright_?" Stiles' voice cracks, and he ignores the twinge of pain that enters his chest. The two nod numbly, and he releases them both. "Alright."

He turns back in his seat, facing foreword. He has to clear his throat, for the fear his voice will be lost. "Uh, Lyds, there should be an umbrella by your feet.." He glances at Scott. "You can use it, Scott and I will just.. deal?" He raises his eyebrows at Scott to confirm that's the plan, and Scott doesn't look at him, but manages to give him a short nod. Lydia leans down, picking up the umbrella and digging her nails into the rubber of the handle. "Got it?" He asks, and she gives him a close lipped smile. "Okay." He swallows the lump formed in his throat, before pushing his door open. The rain outside, instantly becomes louder, and he almost slams the door back shut to regain the comfort of the rain being muffled. Instead, he lets his feet sink into the damp grass, stretching, then he turns back and pulls the front seat up so Lydia can step out.

She hands him the umbrella, and he doesn't hesitate to open it before she takes his outstretched hand, hopping out of the jeep, and stumbling into his chest. He wraps his arm around her to stable her, expecting for her to leave his side once she's standing up straight. But she doesn't. She only holds onto him tighter, looking down the hill ahead of them. Stiles, confused, looks back through the open door of the jeep at Scott, who is staring back at them, his hand still on his door. His best friend holds sad eyes as he watches them. Scott held onto Allison that very same way the day she'd confided in him about her Aunt's funeral in the empty classroom. Knowing he can no longer do that forces him to look away, breaking he and Stiles' gaze, and shutting the door behind him. Stiles takes this as their cue to walk down the hill.

Scott meets Stiles and Lydia in front of Stiles' jeep, and the three stare down at the group of people down ahead, gathering around a silver coffin. It's now that they realize, stepping out of the car was the easy part. Actually walking down the hill,..that was the hard part.

"...Ready?" Stiles manages to get out now causing his knuckles to go white by how tightly he's holding onto the umbrella above Lydia's head.

"Nope." Lydia breathes, her chest rising and falling roughly with each inhale.

"Never." Scott's lips barely move as he answers, staring blankly at the funeral setting in front of him.

"...Yeah. Me neither." Stiles nods, and then with his free hand, clasps Lydia's hand in his own. She quickly intertwines their fingers, and with her other hand grabs Scott's hand. His hands were shaking, but stop once he feels Lydia's palm in his own.

Scott looks down at their hands, and then up at both Stiles and Lydia, who are now looking at him expectantly. He hesitates, but nods and then faces forward as they all begin their walk down the hill. The rain drops hit against Scott and Stiles roughly, quick to soak their suits, and hair. The umbrella doesn't do much for Lydia, due to the wind blowing most of the raindrops below the umbrella's shield. None of them seem to care though, as they concentrate on not sliding down the wet grass of the hill. Although the sky is rumbling above them, and the rain showers are hissing as they meet the earth, the walk down the hill is silent to the three. It almost feels as if they're walking in slow motion. There's a few times Lydia stops in her tracks to remind herself to breathe while the boys wait understandingly, and Scott is forced to use his werewolf reflexes to stop the three from falling, but all the same they make it down the hill without collapsing in grief. And to them, that says more than not.

Their parents had agreed to meet them at the burial site, after they'd requested to drive with Stiles from the funeral home. As promised, they'd met them at the bottom of the hill. Scott instantly let go of Lydia's hand, hugging his mother. Melissa McCall held onto her son, whispering quiet words into his ear. Lydia followed suit, letting go of Stiles and walking into the middle of a sandwiched hug from her parents. Stiles closed his umbrella, figuring it no longer held purpose seeing as they all were soaked, and allowed his father's arms to wrap around him. It was a moment between all four parents and their kids. It was brief, for the fear of being a bit like a stab in the heart to Chris Argent, who was watching on from where he stood in front of the coffin. And soon after the moment was over, the group of teens and adults, gathered with every one else, taking their respected spots in front. Chris gave them all a teary smile, before bowing his head as the pastor began to speak.

Everything said about Allison was general statements, typically said at a burial. Yes, she was a daughter. Yes, she was a friend. Yes, she was gone too soon. But it wasn't mentioned that she was a hero. That she died, saving a friend. That it was her final arrow, that killed an Oni. It wasn't mentioned that she was good at bowling, loved to dance, and hated photography, even though she was good at that as well. Nobody had mentioned that she'd fallen in love with a werewolf named Scott McCall, or had a best friend named Lydia Martin who was a banshee, or another friend named Stiles Stilinski who had been possessed by a Japanese spirit. Nor was it mentioned that she could kick a werewolf's ass in a fight if she genuinely needed to, or that she would stay up all night making sure that her friends and family were protected. Allison was being sent off, without almost all of her story being told. And although half of her story was made up of things that could not be shared with the human public, it still felt wrong. _Unjustified_, even. So when the pastor closed his bible, and backed away, preparing for the coffin to be lowered into the ground, Allison's friends spoke up.

"Stop!" All three of them said, synchronized.

Everyone turned to them, and it was in that moment that the group of teens realized they'd spoken aloud. They looked back and forth from one another, mouths agape.

"Well?" Chris Argent took a step foreword.

"We, uh.." Lydia blinked. "_I_" she corrected, feeling she couldn't speak for everyone. "I would like to say something, to Allison."

Chris' face relaxed.

"I would like to as well." Stiles pointed to himself, awkwardly.

"As would I." Scott lifted his head, catching his mother's sad smile.

"Right," Chris nodded slowly, "Go on." He took a few step backwards as the three teens stepped forward, looking down at the coffin.

"Uhm..." Stiles was the one to start. Scott and Lydia were thankful for that. "Allison," he stopped, her name in his mouth causing the knots in his stomach to grow. "I remember, when you first came to Beacon Hills. You were this, beautiful, uh..shy, cool girl who popped into my Econ class one morning. I remember seeing you in the hallway on your first day and thinking _man that girl must be really brave to start all over sophomore year, I could never be that brave_. And uh, I didn't really see much of you after that first day. Then the next thing I know.. you're going out with my best friend. And we finally got to know each other. You were just as brave, and cool as I figured you'd be. I remember you were always the one who offered to invite me to things. Yano, like bowling night, parties,..all that popular crowd stuff that nobody ever thought to invite me to. Even my best friend would forget sometimes, but you..you would always remember. I never got to say thank you, for that. So, I want to say thank you today. I know you can't answer back, but I know you can hear it. Wherever you are. We never were that close until this year, but I'm grateful for the year we did have. You became one of my best friends. You saved my ass more times than I can count. And uh,.." He felt that burning sensation in his nose again but this time he didn't bother to hold back the tears. "And, I'm just sorry I couldn't save you." he nodded to himself, as a tear fell off his chin. "I'll miss you." he wiped at his face, sniffling. By this point Lydia was crying again, Scott had his eyes closed. The rain, causing his hair to stick to his face. Stiles walked over to the coffin, bending down and whispering. "I'll take care of them...I _promise_." He patted the coffin lightly, and then stood once more, walking over to stand by his father.

Scott was next, feeling Lydia needed more time to regain her composure. He opened his eyes, his heart rate picking up it's pace. "Allison," he began and he felt like he'd been hit by a truck. "I.." he closed his lips, breathing. "I have so many memories of you, that I can't get out of my head. It's like a movie that's on repeat. But it's okay, because I don't mind remembering. Like, giving you my pen, on the first day. Or, seeing you smiling at me in the hallway. Or our first kiss, after my game. The first time... The first time you said you loved me." He sucked in a watery breath. "The last." he was thankful for the rain hiding the tears on his cheeks. He wished he could say the same for his voice. "I remember that time we snuck out of school to celebrate your birthday, because you were scared people would make fun of you for being a 17 year old sophomore. You'd said it was a perfect day. I'd never seen you so happy." He laughed lightly at this, but it was pained. "I want you to know, that you were _my_ first love. That without you, I wouldn't be who I am today. I'm a better person, because of you. A better son. A better friend. A better leader. You changed my life for the better. Even when we weren't together, you always stood by my side. And I will forever be thankful for that. I am so sorry... I'm so sorry that I didn't protect you." There was now no way to hide his cries, as his voice made it evident. "Allison, I will always love you." He cried. "...Because I love you.. remember?" He chewed at his bottom lip and then he turned around, meeting his mother halfway as she hugged him for the 3rd time that day.

Listening to Scott and Stiles' speeches had given Lydia enough time to cry, and to think of what she would say. How she would say goodbye to her best friend. She'd come to the conclusion there was no right answer. There was no right way to say goodbye. Because saying goodbye to Allison wasn't right. "I'm not going to say goodbye," she spoke, folding her hands together. "I'm going to say, see you later. Because a _warrior_... like yourself, never truly dies." she shrugged, tears filled in her eyes. "I know you, Alli...You never wanted to be weak. And goodbye, is for the weak. Losing hope, is for the weak. You were not weak. You were my best friend. My sister. And you died, on your way to save me. You were..." Lydia looked to Chris, who was making sure she stuck to the story. "You were killed, and it had happened so fast. And I never got to say that I love you. That you were the greatest friend anyone could ever come to know. You were loyal, you were helpful, you were a light in the dark. Allison Argent, you were what I aspired to be. _Strong_. And I wish I would have appreciated those small moments we'd had in the car bickering, or those nights we'd stay up late gossiping when we were supposed to be studying. All those goofy texts, and times at the mall trying on outfit after outfit. I had focused more on boys, and prom and all of those trivial things, when now all I'd want is to have you back." Lydia looked down at her hands, chipping away at the remaining nail polish. "You were my other half. I need you, Ally." She cried. "But, I will be okay. For the both of us. Because I know you can no longer be strong for me." She nods. "So..See you later, Ally A. I hope I make you proud."

When Lydia turned, it was not her parents who met her, but Scott and Stiles. The two opened their arms and it didn't take long for the three to stand in a group hug, crying. Chris, no longer able to hold back his own tears, walked over and wrapped his arms around the 3 teens. They adjusted so he could now be apart of the hug. It lasted for about 10 minutes, everyone else respectfully waiting. When they finally pulled apart, and the rain continued to pour, they watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground, everything about Allison's death seeming to feel more concrete and final than any of them wanted to accept. The funeral was over. It was like the final chapter to their story. The battle was over, but it had come with a very important casualty. Nothing about it felt right. It had been too soon. It wasn't her time to go. Allison wasn't the type to die. She was meant to live. But with each shovel of dirt thrown over her coffin, now under ground, the farther from the truth that seemed to be. She was gone.

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**Disclaimer: **I do not own "Teen Wolf", nor do I profit in this story other than the satisfaction of becoming a better writer. I do not claim to own any of these pre-written characters. All belong to the creator Jeff Davis and various copyright holders!

**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I just wanted to write the funeral scene. Allison won't be appearing until a bit later. I really want to focus on the packs grief. I also have to bring Malia in seeing as she was in the 3b finale, and I feel she might help somewhat in where i'm going with this. As always, thanks for reading! Please review! x


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